In Any Capacity
by SM0KEYJ0E
Summary: Intended as a oneshot involving Scully and Doggett not meant to be romance exactly... you can sort of decide that for yourself, I guess...


Author's Notes: I haven't actually watched the X-files in a really long time, and I was never really all that attentive after David Duchovny left (I thoughtnon-skeptical Scully was kinda lame and I hated, hated, _hated_ how crazy emotional she was, even with the whole pregnancy thing which I also wasn't really a fan of). I did, however, think Doggett and Scully had a very interesting dynamic. All that to say that I'm not sure the characterization is right, but I thought I'd throw this out there anyway.

And please also fill in all the standard disclaimers about things that are not mine, etc. Imagine them here.

* * *

John Doggett carefully picked up the barrel of his gun and reached for a cleaning rod and flannel patches. He tended to his weapon carefully, all the while keeping an eye on the hockey game in front of him. Due to caseload, he'd taped it from earlier in the week, and it was a great way to unwind on a Friday night. Since being assigned to the X-files, John found he needed these moments of peace: time when he didn't have to think about his career or the search for Fox Mulder… time when he didn't have to deal with Dana Scully and the gamut of emotions that his presence seemed to evoke in her. It had become increasingly frustrating, and he often found himself wondering how Mulder had ever gotten so close to her... how she had ever allowed him to get so close, especially since Doggett himself seemed to be having no success in that department.

A power play was in progress and it was looking like someone might score when John heard a quiet knocking. Carefully setting down pieces of his stripped gun, he went to the front door and was surprised to see his partner standing there. "Agent Scully." He greeted, brows raised. "What are you doing here?"

She looked uncomfortable, as though she didn't really want to be there. "I uh – I'm sorry." She answered. "I don't know. I just – can I come in?"

"Yeah." John nodded, opening the door further, allowing her to step across the threshold. "Course."

Scully waited while he closed the door and followed as he made his way back to the living room. He gestured for her to take a seat, which she did, on the far end of the couch as he muted the sound on the television.

"I'm sorry." She waved at the television and the coffee table. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Not a problem." He assured her.

There was a moment of silence.

"Your house is…" Scully gazed around the room, "…very masculine." She observed. "I never really paid attention before, I guess…"

John nodded again, back to cleaning his gun. Some small part of him enjoyed that she'd noticed. In his mind, he'd struggled to define who Dana Scully was: even though she constantly fought to be seen as an equal, she was drawn to strong men, powerful men. There was some part of her, he knew, that wanted to be cared for, and that wanted to be protected; perhaps it came from her father's influence in her life: it was that part of her that he'd subconsciously hoped would notice the hockey game he'd muted. Doggett was not blind, after all. He saw that she was a beautiful woman, strikingly so, but there was something else to her that he had yet to figure out. She'd be given nicknames by some of the more calloused men in the bureau – she was an ice queen: uncaring, unfeeling, harsh, they said. Little did they actually know, Dana Scully had probably a greater capacity for compassion than anyone he'd ever met. He suspected it was what made her go into the medical profession before joining the FBI. But still, there was that promise of something unknown, that thing about her that he couldn't figure out, that bit of mystery that intrigued him. The rational part of him deemed it a crush… an infatuation with a beautiful woman, all the while some other part of him, the part he was furiously trying to deny, told him that he was actually feeling something for this woman that he wasn't supposed to feel: not by the bureau's standards, and not by hers.

"Is everything okay?"

Scully nodded. "Yeah." She didn't sound very convinced herself. "Everything's fine. I just wanted – I guess I was wondering what you were up to."

Doggett looked at her, narrowing his eyes. "What's goin' on, Agent Scully?"

"Nothing." She answered quickly, faltering under his gaze. "I just – I should have called or… I should go." Scully stood. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – I know my way out."

John recovered quickly and made his way over to the door just as she had opened it. A bit more forcefully than he intended, he slammed it shut, effectively blocking her in.

Scully's head fell, and she closed her eyes for a moment before staring at the hardwood floor. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. He was extremely confrontational: energy was radiating off of him, and she was afraid that she couldn't stand underneath the weight of it.

"You're not leaving yet." Doggett commanded.

Scully still couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Please." She whispered.

Hand still on the door, still blocking her, John inched forward, getting even closer to her, though it was barely possible. "Are you so afraid of betraying him?"

Turning slightly to face him, Scully finally met Doggett's eyes with shock.

"Or are you afraid of letting yourself care about anyone else because you think you'll lose them too?"

"Don't profile me, John." It was defensive; it came out harshly, and she knew it.

John put both hands on her shoulders and bent his knees a bit so that he was more on her level. When Scully dropped her head again, he lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. "It wasn't your fault, Dana. _You _didn't lose him. There was nothing else you could've done."

"I know." She nodded, trying to maintain the edge to her voice; her strength was crumbling, and she didn't want to stand so close to him a second longer, for fear that she'd once again fall into the emotional mess that she'd become in the last months.

"Do you?" John asked. "Then what are you afraid of?" he waited, but she didn't answer him. "Let me in, Dana. I need you to tell me what's goin' on here."

He waited for what seemed like an eternity before she spoke.

"I'm afraid of you… I'm feeling something that I don't want to feel." Scully looked up at him defiantly. She was angry: angry that he was doing this to her and angry with herself for coming to his house in the late hour, for putting herself in this position to be shown as weak or incapable.

"I know a little bit about that." Doggett confessed, trying to search her soul, trying to understand if she really was angry with him or if it was a mask, albeit a subconscious one. He suspected the latter: she was so confused as to what she was feeling and what she wanted that it was ripping her apart at the seams, and he couldn't stand by and watch it anymore.

Scully watched his eyes soften and her own brow furrowed. She studied him for a moment, wanting desperately to understand; wanting desperately to resolve every wrong thing that had somehow happened. In the end she gave up, closing her eyes, losing the battle against the tear that fell as she did.

John brought a hand up to her cheek, brushing it away softly.

"Please." She whispered, "I'd like to go home." Her eyes opened, and her resolve was back.

He studied her just a moment longer and slid his hand from the door, dropping it back to his side. Scully moved carefully backward, opening the door just enough for her to move her slight frame through. Before she slipped away, John grabbed her arm, and she looked back at him, startled.

"Dana – "

"I can't do this now, John." She answered not a little sadly. "Don't ask me to."

Her arm slipped through his, but he thought he felt the slightest hesitation when her fingers brushed his palm – the slightest squeeze: an affirmation. Perhaps it was all in his head; perhaps it was just a moment of fantasy, but he knew that he would wait for this woman. He would be there in whatever capacity she wanted or asked of him.


End file.
